


Trade

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 22:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Qui-Gon is imprisoned and slowly poisoned by Xanatos. Obi-Wan negotiates his release.





	Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for graphic references to rape. This is very dark. 
> 
>  
> 
> A huge thanks to antheiasilva for the feedback and for not blocking me instantly when I floated by the idea for this story.

“The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even past.” -William Faulkner

\--------

The moth landed on his foot. He stayed very still, so it wouldn’t get startled and seek out another perch. Its tiny legs shifted along the uneven path of his toes. Each ephemeral touch was a taste of the Living Force, and Qui-Gon smiled for the first time in...days? Would he still be able to count his time here in days? Or was a day as miniscule as a moth’s leg now, compared to how long he had been in the cell? It hardly seemed worth worrying about, when here was a moth, delicate, translucent wings, a reminder of freedom and the Universe still breathing beyond the duracrete walls. 

He had not expected to die this way. In the beginning of his captivity, he was certain he would escape, or be rescued. Slowly, that belief was corroded, by illness and isolation, and now he focused on releasing his anger, to find peace within himself before the end. 

The grey moth fluttered from his foot to his knee. He thought of Obi-Wan’s grey eyes. He envisioned his Padawan in a safe and beautiful place, where ocean met soft white sands, and the cool wind would ruffle his hair. He did not know if Obi-Wan had survived the ambush. 

Xanatos would not tell him.

Sometimes he thought the not-knowing would consume him. And that was why he kept Obi-Wan on that sun-dappled beach, smiling, waiting for him, whether in this life or what came after. 

——

Xanatos was poisoning him. He grew sicker, retching most of what he ate, sleeping only in fevered fits. 

He longed for the comfort of the Force, if only to soften death’s blow, to call to Obi-Wan, just once, and tell him all the things that swelled in his heart. 

_I am proud of you._

——

He was left on his own. 

He could not remember his own voice, or the placid scent of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or how many markers were tied into Obi-Wan’s learner’s braid.

But he would know if he was dead. Surely he would.

——

When the heavy door finally lurched open, the moth settled on his shoulder. Qui-Gon leaned his head back against the wall, refusing to so much as tense before his fallen protege. 

Xanatos stood in the cell’s listless absence of light. “Good morning, my Master. I apologize for leaving you on your own so long. Responsibilities are difficult to outrun, as you know. Or maybe you _don’t_.” He brushed aside his black hair with a pale, slender hand. “But today’s developments are too exciting not to share.”

Another figure stumbled into the cell, was pushed roughly to their knees. 

Qui-Gon blinked. “Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan!” His heart soared _alive alive alive_ , then sank. _Captured. Here._ He lunged for his Padawan, but Xanatos stepped between them, placed his boot over Qui-Gon’s spread fingers on the floor. 

“Look at you. Try to maintain _some_ level of decorum, Master.”

Qui-Gon glared up at the ex-Jedi. “If you hurt him—“

“Oh please.” Xanatos scoffed. “As if you’re in a position to make threats to _me._ You’re as weak as a newborn kitling. And your sweet little servant already knows all about your predicament.”

Qui-Gon tried to peer through the shadows to see Obi-Wan. “Padawan, don’t listen to him. Whatever he’s told you—“

“So valiant and self-sacrificing. Luckily for you, your Padawan is cut from the same cloth of nauseating martyrdom.”

Qui-Gon did not understand; dread curdled in his gut. “Obi-Wan?”

Xanatos backed away then, allowing Obi-Wan to crawl over to him. Qui-Gon took a hitching breath, and cradled the smooth face in his hands. Even without the Force, he felt the spark of warmth when their eyes met. “Padawan, it’s too late for me. You have to get out of here,” Qui-Gon whispered. He rubbed his thumb over the cleft in Obi-Wan’s chin and smiled tremulously. “I was...afraid I’d never see you again, before…”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, until their foreheads brushed together. He smelled like metal and sweat. “I won’t leave without you, Master. I promise.”

Qui-Gon glanced over at Xanatos. He was studying them with a strange smile. 

He looked back at Obi-Wan. “I don’t want your promises, Obi-Wan, except that you will leave me here and save yourself.”

Obi-Wan was not a child anymore. Qui-Gon had forgotten how strong and solid he was now. But still hard-headed. Still foolish. “I’ve negotiated your release, Master. He gave me his word.” 

Qui-Gon clutched Obi-Wan’s shoulders, imbuing his touch with authority, desperation. “His word is worthless. Do you understand he would do horrific things to you, just to make me suffer?”

“I do understand,” Obi-Wan answered, and his dulcet tone was so calm and precise and _resigned_. He gingerly smoothed Qui-Gon’s hair. “Suffering is preferable to death.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes darted between his old apprentice and his current one. He swallowed a lump of growing apprehension. Obi-Wan’s eyes were soft and grey, like the moth’s wings. He shook his head. “Not my death, for your suffering. I am your Master. I am meant to protect you.”

Obi-Wan rested his head, too briefly, against Qui-Gon’s neck. “I’m sorry.” He murmured. “This is what I must do.”

Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, staring straight at Xanatos. “What must he do?” Rage vibrated beneath his skin. “What must he do, Xanatos?!” He demanded.

Xanatos just smiled at him, ice blue eyes betraying nothing of his plans.

“Obi-Wan, please, don’t…”

And suddenly Obi-Wan was squeezing his hands, pulling away. “I’ll return as soon as I’m able. Trust me, Master.”

“I do, I do, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon insisted, miserably, watching as Xanatos guided his Padawan out the door. Then he sank to the cold duracrete, weeping.

——

The not-knowing took over everything. He stayed curled in on himself, deciding he must be prepared for Xanatos. If the opportunity came, he would fight. Perhaps there was a chance Obi-Wan’s life could be spared.

There was no sheltering ocean or compassionate sky for Obi-Wan, now that Qui-Gon had seen him in the cell. When he tried to close his eyes, he saw unspeakable scenarios, as his mind supplied all the depravities Xanatos could be visiting upon his student. 

Yes, Obi-Wan was powerful, and intelligent, but he was only twenty, years from Knighthood. And Qui-Gon knew his apprentice would do anything for him. Xanatos would exploit Obi-Wan’s love, because he could not comprehend it. Because he was jealous. 

Qui-Gon huddled on the floor. The fear and anger whispered to him:

_He is hurting your Padawan. What is he doing to your Padawan? What if your Padawan is screaming for you, and you cannot hear him? Because you are here._

_There is nothing in Xanatos worth saving. He has trapped you in hell and is going to kill your Padawan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is going to die if you do not kill Xanatos._

_Besides, you want to kill Xanatos. You hate him._

_You HATE him._

_He took your love and threw it away, threw everything you gave him into a pit of resentment. And now he thinks he gets to take Obi-Wan, your good and pure Obi-Wan, the person who gave you your heart back._

Qui-Gon pressed his fists to his brow, sucking in a ragged breath. He would reject those thoughts, as he rejected the Darkness, as he sought the forgiving Light of the Force. He was still dying, and frail to his bones, but Xanatos would not claim his soul—the part of him his former apprentice wanted most. 

He would gather every shred of remaining strength inside himself, and do this one last thing. He would not let Obi-Wan pay for his mistakes. He would—-

The door swung open and Qui-Gon scrambled to his feet, wild adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

Xanatos looked him up and down and laughed. “Forgive me if I refrain from shaking in my boots, Qui-Gon. You do not paint a very intimidating picture.”

Cold sick-sweat slicked his skin. He was dizzy, his ears roared, but he took a step forward. “ _Where_...is...Obi-Wan?”

“Oh, just sit down.” Xanatos pushed his shoulder. 

Qui-Gon sank to his knees, panting, drained from even that slight exertion. “This...this has always been between you and me. Obi-Wan is innocent---”

“Innocent?” Xanatos drew out the syllables, lip curled. He crouched beside Qui-Gon. “Perhaps he was.”

Qui-Gon breathed in slowly. “Was?” 

“I didn’t kill him.” Xanatos waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not that uninspired. And where would be the fun in that? One of the problems with the vaunted Jedi Order is you’re never supposed to have any _fun_.”

Qui-Gon felt fear grab hold of his intestines and tighten. 

Amusement danced in Xanatos’s blue eyes. It was hard to believe those eyes had ever looked upon Qui-Gon with affection. “Like Obi-Wan, for instance. So serious. He burst in here wearing that stoic Jedi mask and I thought to myself ‘here is someone who’s never had any fun’. The Jedi, the _Council_ , want you to give, give give. Give your freedom, give any hope for happiness or pleasure, give your _life_. You’re snatched from your real family and put on this path and if you’re not perfect, you’re treated like a monster. You’re pitied. You’re feared. You cling to the path because you’re afraid. Obi-Wan tries to be perfect. He hasn’t learned yet that it’s impossible. No wonder he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“What do you mean?” Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched. “Doing what?”

“Oh, he caught on quick.” Xanatos’s grinning face swam before him. “I’ve found that the quiet and reserved ones tend to be the loudest in...well...the right situation.”

His mind was unglued, fragmented from the poison. Xanatos was telling him something but Qui-Gon couldn’t, wouldn’t, connect the pieces. “Let me see him now. If you haven’t killed him, you’ll...” He gathered the stale air in his lungs, every breath pinching, “...you’ll bring him here.”

“Don’t you tire of the commanding Jedi Master act?” Xanatos sighed, slipping something from his dark tunics. A hypospray. 

Qui-Gon’s heart pounded. He imagined dying here slumped against the stained wall, Obi-Wan finding him and realizing Xanatos had lied all along.

Suffering untold horrors, for Qui-Gon to be killed anyway. 

“Relax, my Master. It will counteract the poison.” Xanatos explained. He rolled up Qui-Gon’s sleeve and looked him deeply in the eyes as he administered the hypo. “You can thank your Padawan. He was _determined_ to save you.”

Qui-Gon felt a creeping warmth spread under his skin. He swallowed. “I would like to thank him in person.”

Xanatos chuckled quietly, tossing the empty container behind him. “I get it. You want to see him. You know, I always wondered why _him_? What was it about Kenobi that brought you out of your stupor? He never seemed particularly charming, or powerful, or talented…but after today, I can attest to his talents, at least.” Xanatos leaned forward, until their lips were close enough for their breath to mingle. “He’s very, very talented.”

The fog lifted. Qui-Gon saw, and knew. His confusion dissipated, replaced by nauseating clarity. Heat clawed at his face. _My Padawan. My Padawan_. “Bring him to me.” He ground out between his teeth. He shivered from the inside out, scraping his nails against the duracrete. 

Xanatos sat cross-legged on the cell floor. “I figured he would do well enough with his hands, what with all the practice he gets wrapping those long fingers around his saber hilt. A fine grip. A top-credit Twi’lek whore would tire first.” He smirked, “And now that I’ve had his mouth, I’m not sure another whore could satisfy me. Is that how he earns his keep? With that hot little mouth of his? I wonder what color braid marker they use to represent that sort of...achievement?” 

“Enough!” Qui-Gon’s outrage thundered against the cold walls of the cell. _Obi-Wan no no no--_

“It wasn’t enough.” Unfazed, Xantos drummed his fingers idly against his knees. “And he pledged to do whatever I asked. _Anything_. I told him I wanted to be satisfied.” Lower, in a whisper, “I’m not easily satisfied.”

Qui-Gon grabbed a fistful of Xanatos’s tunic. Spittle flew from his mouth. “Bring him to me! Damn it, bring him here!”

Xanatos jerked him forward by the neck of his tunic. “You have the gall to bark commands at me?” He snarled, “You killed my father, and you think I’ll just bow down like I’m still your slave. But I have the upper hand here. Now, and forever. You can never undo what’s been done. You’ll never have him back the way he was: the pristine apprentice. Part of him will always belong to me.”

Xanatos’s pale face was dissolving again, this time behind a sheen of unbidden tears. _Obi-Wan. Padawan. No._ The antidote—if that’s what it was—burned through his veins like a cleansing fire. He wanted to burn Xanatos, make him pay for hurting—for—-Qui-Gon shook his head. “None of him belongs to you, Xanatos, because none of you belongs to the Light.”

“You’re one to talk about _the Light_ , dear Master. As if you haven’t toed that line before. As if you aren’t aching to see me destroyed for what I’ve done.” Xanatos released him, and rose nimbly to his feet. “I think my favorite moment was when I curled that impressively long braid around my fist—your Padawan _is_ im _press_ ively long, if you didn’t know—when I curled his braid around my fist while I _pressed_ into him. And don’t look at me like that, Qui-Gon, of course I took time to prepare him first. You’d be proud of how tight he was.”

Qui-Gon was floating somewhere outside his body, vibrating in the bitter currents of disbelief and certainty, bottomless rage for Xanatos and limitless need for Obi-Wan. _He is doing this to taunt you. This is what he does. What do you do, Qui-Gon Jinn?_ “I am proud of the kind and decent man he is.”

Xanatos snorted. “Well, he’s certainly a man _now_. I almost couldn’t believe it. He must be a dedicated pupil to reach his age never having kissed someone. That’s what he told me— _I don’t know how_.” A mirthless peal of laughter. “Do you know how sweet and rare that is? A beautiful, virginal man, prepared to give everything. He let me take everything.”

Qui-Gon knew he was not strong enough to fight Xanatos. The new fever dragged his reserves, and he had barely eaten since being captured. He would not win if he tried. He had fallen into Xanatos’s trap, fallen as he had years before, except now he had taken Obi-Wan _my Padawan my good good Padawan_ with him. He ran a hand over his sweat-drenched beard. “It sounds like your… _deal_ has been met. You promised to let him go.”

Xanatos paced the cell, and Qui-Gon avoided looking at the languid, satisfied lines of his body. “I also promised not to tell you what I’ve done. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard? He utterly debased himself for your life and then _begs_ me not to tell you. Please. As if I could resist.” He grinned. “That was rather the point of it all. The rest, hearing him moan, watching him succumb to his body, was quite enjoyable, of course, but knowing _you_ know? That’s what will bring me the most satisfaction. That’s what I will lay awake at night fantasizing about.” He stopped in front of Qui-Gon and kneeled down again, eye to eye. “I bet you’ll be lying awake too, fantasizing about your dutiful apprentice. Because now that I’ve told you what he can do, how long will it take before you want—you _need_ —to experience his _talents_ for yourself? We both know he’d do it, too. I think he’d do anything for you. After today, there’s not much he _hasn’t_ done.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Even without the Force, he sought his center, reached for the sacred light of his apprentice. _My Padawan. Peace. We will survive this_.

But he knew Obi-Wan couldn’t hear him. The fever clamored inside him. 

Xanatos stroked the damp hair from Qui-Gon’s brow, a parody of compassion in his touch and gaze. “But I won’t go back on my word.” He said softly, “You’ll have him back, for whatever that’s worth now. Every time he looks at you, he’ll be reminded of what he lost. And every time you look at him, remember that for all his dignity and training, he’ll rut like a back alley slut to get what he wants.”

Qui-Gon’s chest heaved. “When I look at him, I’ll see someone who thinks of others, who gives with all of his heart. I’ll see my legacy.” He shook his head. “I won’t see you. I’ll _never_ see you, Xanatos.”

And then he collapsed, melting into merciful unconsciousness.

———

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Qui-Gon pulled away, wanting to go back to the not-knowing…

“Master—“

_I am not your Master anymore. I do not claim you, you vile—_

“Master, he’s letting us go. We have to hurry.” A pause. “I don’t think I can carry you.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open. Obi-Wan hovered above him, face blurred. “Padawan…?” He blinked until the familiar features sharpened. Obi-Wan was studying him with concern, mouth compressed. All duty. 

“Master, are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked, lifting his other hand to Qui-Gon’s forehead, no doubt checking for fever. “Can you walk?”

Qui-Gon covered the hand with his own. “Obi-Wan…” His throat tightened. 

The grey moth had landed on Obi-Wan’s braid, crawling along the plaited hair. His apprentice smiled down at him. “It’s going to be alright. Can you stand if I help you?”

He didn’t want to stand. The weight of his freedom had settled in his bones. _For me. For me_. He deserved to remain in the cell, in this prison of his failures and blindness. 

But Obi-Wan was winding his arm around Qui-Gon’s waist. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to be gentle,” he murmured, in his graceful, quiet voice. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Obi-Wan…” His thoughts were scattered, images caught in the wind, all of them Obi-Wan, his young and inexperienced Padawan, being made to—

He started to sink and Obi-Wan caught him, grabbed him tighter. “It will be alright, Master. We need to get out of here. You must help me, you must walk.”

The authoritative words jolted awake the Jedi, the Master. Qui-Gon would not compound his apprentice’s problems by losing himself in his despair now. He felt a surge of willpower and straightened, though he still needed to lean on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Together they hobbled out of the cell. 

——-

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Think I should continue it? Think I should stop writing and seek help? Let me know. <3 Also I'm on tumblr now, username luvvewan!


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